


Promise Not to Stop When I Say When

by NewAgeVintage



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Choking, Jealousy, M/M, Pre-Negotiated Kink, some good ol' angry sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 20:56:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16126580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewAgeVintage/pseuds/NewAgeVintage
Summary: Rusty does something to anger Brock and enjoys the consequences as they both work out some tension.





	1. I Know You've Always Been Out of Your Head

**Author's Note:**

> Big ol' warnings for sexualised violence, blood, bruising, choking, etc. Title from Everlong by the Foo Fighters

Brock Samson was angry. He was rarely actually mad. Annoyed? Ticked off? Prone to violence? Absolutely, but rarely personally upset. Both of the boys were out of the house and there were no impending Guild threats. If anything he should be relaxed, sitting in front of the TV with Doc and a bottle of beer.

This was Rusty's fault, unsurprisingly. He’d been on some bullshit spring cleaning kick, another fleeting obsession to keep him busy. It was a completely pointless endeavor, robotic housekeepers took care of cleaning. Then he went from sweeping and dusting to unpacking old boxes and throwing away anything he deemed unnecessary.

Earlier in the day Brock had gone into the closet for something and noticed a box he’d almost completely forgotten. Something was immediately wrong. It was too light when he picked it up, the only things remaining in the bottom were a few cassette tapes. The box was set back into the closet.

He’d confronted him a few hours ago and it quickly dissolved into screaming. Molotov was a sore spot between them, mementos of her were boxed up and put away after Brock returned to being the Venture body guard. However the agreement they had did not include going behind Brock’s back and throwing away the few memories he wanted to keep.

He decided to be the bigger man, distancing himself from Doc to go cool off. He’d been outside for almost two hours, but it wasn’t helping. A crushed, empty pack of cigarettes was on the ground next to him and he had a white knuckled grip on the sides of the pool chair he was sitting in. He knew that Rusty Venture was a damaged man who could be prone to cruelty, but this crossed an uncomfortable line.

Brock whips his head towards the door when he hears it slide open, “Are you seriously still fucking out here Brock? Get over it! Unless you want to go crawling through the trash shoot.” The metal frame of the chair bends in his hands. Seemingly oblivious, Doc continues towards him. He’s saying something but Brock can’t focus on words.

“Doc, you need to leave.”

“Oh! So telling me what to do in my own house is just something we’re doing now?”

The situation is spiraling out of control and Brock stands. He closes the distance between them and grabs Rusty by the neck, holding him off the ground for a moment before dropping him. He goes inside, not bothering to shut the door behind him. He can hear coughing as Rusty gets up. Brock continues to his room, not bothering to look behind him.

Rusty hears the door to Brock’s room slam across the penthouse as he’s rubbing at his sore neck. He knew he’d get a reaction, but this was more than he’d anticipated.

There is a short knock on Brock’s door, but before he can respond it’s opened. The moment is a blur and suddenly he has Rusty pinned to the wall, a hand pressing against his stomach and the other against his trachea. Rusty’s face is flushed and he’s panting for air. Brock let’s go.

“Is that what you fucking want Doc?!” Acting on adrenaline and instinct, he kicks a man while he’s down before the words he just said register. Looking down he sees Rusty slumped against the wall, a sick grin on his face. Brock laughs, in on the joke now.

Adrenaline and anger are still pumping through his veins, but they’ve been joined by twisted understanding. He grabs Rusty by the collar and tosses him onto the bed effortlessly. Brock approaches him, swift and silent. One large hand pushes down on his chest, the other holding his face to force eye contact.

Rusty pushes against the force holding him down, “You think I haven’t been through worse? Is that all you got soldier bo-“ Brock slaps him, hard, rewarding Rusty with a bloody nose. He smiles wide, teeth red.

The pressure on his face and chest lets up as hands reposition themselves on his throat. Brock pushes a thigh between Rusty’s legs, pressing hard against his crotch. A filthy noise somewhere between a moan and a gasp for air is the only response Rusty can muster. He’s gripping at the sheets and frantically rutting against Brock’s leg.

Suddenly the grip on his neck is released, Brock’s hands now busy ripping off Rusty’s clothes. “You wanna play rough Doc? Try to erase any memory I have other than you?” Tattered fabric is tossed to the ground.

“I’ve given you more than she ever did”, Rusty spits blood on Brock’s shirt. Brock hits him again before grabbing his thighs and spreading them. Any other person in Rusty’s situation would be begging forgiveness, but he just laughs, shrill and unhinged.

Rusty reaches for his cock, desperate for touch, but Brock quickly pins both of his hands above his head. The grip on his wrists is painfully tight. Brock uses his free hand to unzip his jeans and pull them just far enough down to free his erection. Rusty licks his lips in anticipation, blood from his nose mingling with spit.

Suddenly he’s flipped over, face pushed down into a pillow. Now blind to Brock’s actions he’s taken off guard when he feels saliva hit his ass. Hard and thick, Brock pushes into him with no preparation. He groans at the sensation but pain is quickly joined by pleasure. He’s begging now, words a barely coherent mix of ‘more’, ‘yes’ and expletives.

One hand is on the back of Rusty’s head, pushing him down, the other on his neck. There’s just enough pressure to keep him in place and unable to speak. Brock drives into him, over and over, going faster and faster until the only noise in the room is the vulgar slap of flesh. Rusty cums with a muffled yell but Brock keeps going. He recovers quickly, hard again at the overstimulation. The hand on his neck pulls him backward and up.

Brock is controlling all of his movements, holding him steady as he thrusts up into him. Blurred lights dance in his vision from the lack of air. He’s ready to pass out, and knows that he could stop all of this right now. Riding the feeling of an imminent black out, he cums again.

The spasms of the muscles in Rusty’s ass as he cums is enough to send Brock over the edge. After a few more violent thrusts he finishes, releasing his grip on Rusty, letting him fall forwards into his own mess.

Brock’s head starts to clear and he tucks himself back into his pants. Looking down at the mess of a man before him he can see all the spots where bruises are beginning to form.

“Jesus, Rust. You should have stopped me.” He lights a cigarette and walks to the window.

“Where would the fun be in that Brock? You’re the one who insisted on a damn safe word.” Rusty sits up and rubs at his tender throat. “And are you really smoking inside?” Brock shoots him a nasty look and takes another drag on his cigarette. “Oh and your crap is in the crawl space in the box marked ‘lab specimens’”

Brock laughs, he figured his things were just hidden when Rusty walked into his room. He was an idiot, but he wasn’t dumb.

“I still think it’s creepy to keep her damn eyeball in a jar.”

“Shut up Doc.”


	2. Feel This Real Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short lil tidbit that takes place before the first chapter

The subject was brought up one night after a particularly violent arching. Brock had killed at least 12 henchman and maimed more before being able to get to Rusty. He had already obtained several injuries ranging from a bloody nose to bruised ribs before Brock had freed him.

They were laying in bed hours later, Brock tending to his wounds. Rusty yelped at the sensation of cold rubbing alcohol on his rope burnt wrists. “Ya know Doc, I’d think you’d be used to this by now.”

“I am used to this Brock,” Rusty gestured to the dark purple bruises blooming across his ribs, “Hell, I’m probably too used to it. Doesn’t make alcohol in a wound sting any less.”

Brock finished up with his wrists and set aside the first aid kit. He prodded at Rusty’s bruised chest, checking for any signs of a fracture. The reaction to prodding at tender flesh was very different from tending to the rope burn. Rusty inhaled sharply and averted his eyes as Brock worked his hands over the injuries.

Rusty tried his best to keep still, fighting the urge to press painful skin harder against large hands. Quietly observant Brock picks up on the tension easily and starts applying more pressure. Rusty gasps, not quite a sound of pain, face flushing. “I’m fine Brock, you can drop the Florence nightingale act”

Grinning, Brock removes his hands from Rusty’s rib cage. “If you insist Doc, didn’t think it bothered you that much.” He raises his eyebrows and pointedly looks down at the erection starting to tent the fabric of Rusty’s pants.

Rusty sputters and tries to come up with an excuse, failing miserably, “there’s nothing wrong with reacting to being touched.” He makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, “I mean, it’s not like I haven’t been tossed around before.” The scars from old wounds and the blooming purple of new wounds is testament to that.

Brock doesn’t respond right away, taking a moment to mull over his options, “yeah I know Rust, I’m just not a fan of other people man handling you.”

“I, Uh, well,” Rusty lets out a strained laugh, “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with you pushing me around a little.” He speaks so quickly it’s difficult to pick up exactly what he’s saying.

They move past the subject and it doesn’t get brought back up until a week later.

Rusty’s nails are digging into Brocks muscled shoulders as he’s getting fucked. The standard ‘more, harder, yes’ muttering of a man on the edge of orgasm are joined by a new demand, “hurt me”. In the moment he doesn’t catch himself before it slips out. Brock doesn’t miss a beat, he slaps Rusty’s ass, his other hand now holding onto his side hard enough to bruise.

It evolves from there, Rusty more confident in the requests he used to keep to himself. Brock is willing to oblige most of his requests, only hesitating at the request to choke him. Brock lays down ground rules, insisting on the addition of a safe word into their sex life. Rusty agrees on a word but immediately uses it as a reason for Brock to be able to be meaner.

The first time Rusty purposefully bothers Brock it’s over something simple but the results are phenomenal. The sex is fantastic and it’s easier to get him to be rougher when he’s already annoyed. Brock openly admits afterward that he enjoyed being able to work out some aggression.

Rusty starts to formulate the plan of hiding Molotov’s things


End file.
